The Knowing
by quiet quill
Summary: Could you really know yourself? Did you know your boundaries- your limits? No, not really. You hadn't tested them yet. You couldn't do it by yourself. Not alone. But what if someone could take you there- you know- right there, where limits and boundaries meet? Would you go? Would you stay? Could you, for one brief, shining moment, reach out for something- something more?
1. To Know Thyself

Her skin was white—all white—except for the two tiny rosebuds that stuck out from her chest in two beaded tiny nubs. All white but for the black swathe of hair curled into a 'v' at the top her thighs.

Her arms and legs were tied in chains fastened tight somewhere high against the wall. He could see her arms shaking now, the muscles twitching and jumping at his approach. Her wrists were circled in pink and red, an angry-looking, puffed-up color. _Two days more, _he'd give, _before they opened and bled_.

Her head sagged. The same riot of curls that fell from her sex fell about her face and up and down her two white shoulders. _Curls on top and below-_ he smiled at the symmetry. He would know them both soon enough.

"Do it."

The order had come from behind. Or maybe above. He couldn't be sure. _As one could never be sure in this place. _He shrugged his cloak to the side. _In the end_, he supposed, _it didn't much matter either way_. He knew his place, and he knew his task.

_They'd moved beyond words anyway._


	2. Shattered and Dim

_Creak. Scrape- _came the sound. The sound of old metal against stone.

_Creak. Scrape. Creak. Scrape. Click, click, click._

But, it was more than that. More than one. _More than two_. It was many. She heard the sound of feet—and then voices, many voices.

She tried—oh how she tried!- to hold onto the sound, onto _any_ of the sounds, but they echoed off the walls. Bounced off her hair, off her ears, and out of her mind. There wasn't enough space. _There just wasn't enough space._ The voices sifted like sand—the same _woosh _and _crinkle_ of sand against glass. How useless! She wanted—no, _needed-_ to lift her head, but it was so heavy, so heavy. Like a thing all its own. When it moved, it rushed. _It was the blood_, she told herself. _Must be the blood._ It rushed and then roared.

It made such a noise! Like white static. Like a bright, white bulb that burned in her brain. Burning her brain. It pressed in from all sides, pressing out from all sides. It separated her skull. It separated her bones.

In her ears, in her nose, in her eyes. It all rolled together- _a thousand tiny screams._

_AAAAAHHHHHH! _Did she scream?She must have. The sound of it rushed out of her like the rush of air through a metal pipe.

But, there were no lights here, so she couldn't be sure. _How could she hear a scream when she couldn't see it?_ That made sense, surely. Here, there was only darkness- _only the darkness and never the light-_so, she really couldn't be sure of everything, or nothing, or anything at all. _Right?_

The darkness in front of her shifted. Or _seemed_ to have shifted. It certainly _seemed _to condense down into two shiny, dark shoes. And they certainly _seemed _to be attached to two long, dark legs.

It- the darkness, the specter—whichever it was - moved again. It split the darkness down a long seam and pulled aside to reveal two very white hands. _Those were probably real._ White was just too unusual.

Those hands, those blindingly white hands, reached for his legs. _Or was it the center? _They pulled at his his trousers. The hands blurred. _Or was it their movement?_ It was too fast to see. The white of his hands flashed with the white of something else. Then, the white of his hands fell away. There was only the flash of that something else that remained.

It was long and white.

_Like a long, white pencil._

Someone was screaming now. She was sure of it. She couldn't see it or hear it, but she could _feel _it. Somewhere in the base of her feet and the rest of her body. It shook at her joints till they parted, and her teeth rattled their cage.

That, that _thing—_ itwas terrible. It was the only patch of white in all that hovering darkness. It was horrid. Too horrid to look at, too terrible to look away. It drew the eye like a beacon. A shining white tower in the night sky.

It was too bright. Too damned bright! It pulled at her eyes, her nose, her ears. She was sure they were bleeding. They had to be.

But didn't they know she wanted the dark? She liked the dark!

But that patch of white kept growing larger and larger, and closer and closer. It moved up and down, and then up and down. Again.

Too close. Too close. The tip touched her thigh!

That strange sound came from her chest again, garbled and thick, but she couldn't—it wouldn't come out. Something- her tongue?- was too thick, or too large, or engorged. Or maybe she'd drowned? She could feel a pinprick of damp at her thigh. It trailed a feeling of wetness.

Her whole body shook.

_It_ was poised at her entrance. Between her two folds.

And she thrashed-and she pulled- and she wrenched at her chains! She wasn't ready! She hadn't prepared! She couldn't get out. She couldn't get out!

But it pressed on relentlessly. Stab! Sure and swift in the dark.

And there was pain. So much pain. It rubbed- and it chafed—and abraded her skin. There was blood, so much blood. Blood on her legs and roaring in her ears. And it pummeled and tumbled and flooded her brain.

And the bulb that was white now shone red. Then it shattered and dimmed.

…..

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.


	3. Of Craziness and Kings

"Draco," the man breathed out his name. The syllables meshed together into one long, controlled hiss.

"Master," he replied.

The Dark Lord had many names- _Lord, High Wizard, Minister_- but he reserved _Master_ for his servants.

"Now tell me Draco, how did you enjoy your muddy cunt? Was it good? S_-s-scintillating, _perhaps?" The other man's mouth split then curled into- _something_— something that might have, in some other time, been likened to a smile. "Better than a pureblood bitch?"

Draco didn't respond. He knew better than that. The Dark Lord was trying to catch him, trying to trick him into answering. It didn't matter either way. No answer was safe. _Nothing _was safe around this man.

The other man continued, "I could give her to you, you know. The mudblood. You could _have _her, and she could be yours." He laughed at this in a sputtered, hacking cough.

Draco felt the power shift in the room and shuddered. _Only a madman would laugh at his own counsel. _

_Stop_. And Draco stopped. He didn't dare move or even breathe. _If the Dark Lord heard his thoughts!_ He would be done for. No magic in the world would save him. He forced his mind still.

"I ex-x-pect you to break her for me, of cours-s-e." His hissing grew stronger and more pronounced. It always did when he was talking about something he liked or something that excited him. "She has things-s-s—_information_—we could need, might need, in this the pos-s-t-apocalyptic world we s-s-seem to find ourselves-s in."

_Post-apocalyptic_, he'd said. Post-apocalyptic as though it didn't matter, as if he didn't care. The Dark Lord referred to the state of the world as Draco might refer to the owl-post—in passing and with civil regard. _And yet, he himself, the Dark Lord, was the cause, the very root of it all._ _Madman, indeed!_

"Yes, Master," Draco responded. "Consider it done." He'd had considerable success in breaking things in the past- so much so that the Dark Lord _insisted_ that he attend to all post-war prisoners. He was very good at it. _Sometimes, almost too good_.

"I'll need those results-s-s-s-soon."

"Of course, Master," Draco said.

"I want nothing but the bes-s-t."

Draco nodded then raised a hand to his heart and went down to one knee.

The Dark Lord smiled again. "Go," he said, and just like that Draco was dismissed.

Draco counted his footsteps to the stone arch. He'd almost made it to the door.

"Oh, and Draco-"

Draco stopped and stood stock-still.

"If you fuck her, I'll know."

The crazy man's laugh followed him from the throne room through the bowels of the prison to the girl's cell.

….

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.


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